


God Rest Ye Drunk Detectives

by Chryse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chryse/pseuds/Chryse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally posted as a combination standalone/teaser for "A River Without Banks", about a month before I began posting the complete fic. I thought about taking it down, but finally decided to leave it up because I love the comments so much! Just know if you've suddenly decided to read your way through the Chryse oeuvre that this is part of the longer fic, although it's essentially spoiler-free.</p>
<p>Now available in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/8021095"> Russian!</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	God Rest Ye Drunk Detectives

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted as a combination standalone/teaser for "A River Without Banks", about a month before I began posting the complete fic. I thought about taking it down, but finally decided to leave it up because I love the comments so much! Just know if you've suddenly decided to read your way through the Chryse oeuvre that this is part of the longer fic, although it's essentially spoiler-free.
> 
> Now available in [ Russian!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8021095)

John had really wanted their first Christmas together to be just the two of them. Of course, “the two of them” was really “the two of them plus Mrs. Hudson”, and then Lestrade asked what he could bring this year and added that Christmas Eve in Baker Street was the only part of the whole holiday he wasn’t dreading (“well, and the Doctor Who special”), and after that he really couldn’t say no when Molly offered to make Christmas cake.

“Are you planning to get drunk?” he asked Sherlock bluntly. John was doing all of the preparations with Mrs. Hudson’s help, whilst Sherlock lay on the sofa proclaiming the whole thing pointless.

Sherlock considered. “Is getting high an option instead?”

“ _NO,”_ John and Mrs. Hudson said at the same time.

“What about kicking everyone out and shagging you under the mistletoe?”

“No,” John said again, forestalling Mrs. Hudson, who looked interested.

“I guess I’m getting drunk then. It does have the weight of tradition, after all.”

John pulled out a phone and handed it to him. “Pick Lestrade’s pocket and swap this for his phone. Sometime between the first and second drink would be best.”

“Mine or his?” Sherlock peered at the phone. “This is the one you had when I first met you, the one your sister gave you. Why do you still have it? I thought you tossed it when you upgraded.”

John ruffled his hair. “Why do you think?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John could see him smiling. “And why am I switching out Lestrade’s phone for this?”

“Oh, you’ll work it out. You’re a brilliant detective, after all.”

Molly’s Christmas cake was a great success, and topped off Mrs. Hudson's festive buffet nicely. Lestrade brought drinks. By the time these had gone around a few times Sherlock was sprawled over the sofa with his head in John’s lap, apparently fast asleep. This at least spared them his acid commentary when Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson began singing a Christmas carol they insisted was “God Rest Ye Drunk Detectives,” although they never seemed able to get past the first line without falling over laughing.

“Oh, I must go,” Molly said suddenly, looking at her watch. “I’m meant to be meeting my mum at church for services.”

“I’ll get your coat,” John said, sliding off the sofa and letting Sherlock's limp head fall with a thump onto the cushion. “It’s just in the bedroom.” When he handed over Molly’s coat he realized that Lestrade was standing directly under the mistletoe that Mrs. Hudson had hung in the kitchen doorway and so, having had rather a lot to drink himself, grabbed him about the waist and gave him a resounding smack on the lips. He groped his arse for good measure.

“Hey!” Lestrade said. “Wrong league, mate--not that you aren’t a nice kisser, understand.” He grabbed a handful of John’s arse in revenge. “Nice arse, too,” he added.

“It’s nothing compared to his penis,” Sherlock suddenly announced from the sofa, without opening his eyes. “John has an _enormous_ penis.”

There was a moment’s startled silence in which John covered his eyes with his hand, praying that Sherlock had remembered to swipe Lestrade’s phone before he decided to overshare.

“Oh, yeah?” Lestrade finally managed, voice shaking with suppressed laughter. John was sure he was covertly pulling out his phone. “Please, Sherlock, tell me about John’s penis--hey! What the hell is this?”

John looked up just as Sherlock leaped to his feet, grinning like a maniac and clutching Lestrade’s phone.

“What the fuck?” Lestrade said in bewilderment, staring at the old phone in his hand.

“I’ve already got the email set up to send to the entire Scotland Yard mailing list,” Sherlock said happily, holding up the phone. Lestrade’s face appeared on the screen, saying in a quivering voice that made him sound like an eager thirteen-year-old girl: “Please, Sherlock, tell me about John’s penis.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” shouted Lestrade, making a dive for him. Sherlock jumped onto the sofa, pinwheeling wildly, and then leaped to the desk. His feet skidded on a pile of loose papers John had haphazardly shoved together earlier in the day and he wobbled precariously for a moment, trying to find his balance, until Lestrade bounded up onto the desk after him and they both crashed off the desk and knocked over the Christmas tree.

John had to sit down, he was laughing so hard. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were clutching each other and shrieking, tears in their eyes, as Lestrade tackled Sherlock and sat on him until he got the phone safely away. Sherlock lay pinned on the floor, squirming and hissing like a trapped cat. “Really, if you wanted to grope me, you should have just caught me under the mistletoe like everyone else,” Sherlock managed finally when Lestrade had rolled off his stomach and sat on the floor next to him in the wreckage of evergreen and tinsel.

Lestrade shrugged. “I’ve snogged everyone else tonight,” he said cheerfully, grabbed Sherlock by the head, and kissed him soundly. Sherlock yelped and struggled, and Lestrade slapped his arse and began singing, “God rest ye drunk detectives, let nothing you dismay; remember John’s huge penis is yours on Christmas Day…”

“Oh God, _stop_ ,” Sherlock moaned, covering his ears.

“Hey, hands off!” John said.

“Oh, I can’t breathe,” Molly gasped, wiping at her eyes. “This is terrible, I’m not going to be able to get through the service without thinking of that song now.”

“Take Greg with you, he needs to settle down,” John said, pulling Lestrade to his feet.

John finally got them all cleared out, with no help from Sherlock, of course. He came back in and switched off the lights, leaving the room lit only by the soft glow of the dying fire and the fairy lights on the mantel, and went to stand over Sherlock who was still lying on the floor.

“I can’t believe you knocked over our Christmas tree,” John said. “Where is Father Christmas going to put your gift?”

“In your pants, apparently,” Sherlock answered. He looked immensely pleased with himself.

John bent over and hauled him upright. “You really are drunk, aren’t you? Is that why you let Lestrade snog you?”

Sherlock grinned deliriously. “Nope,” he said in a loud stage whisper.

“Oh, really,” John said very sternly. “So why’d you do it then?”

Sherlock lowered his head to John’s and said in a deep, velvety rumble, “To make you jealous.”

“Did you,” John said in a tone that had made brave men tremble. He slid one hand down the front of Sherlock’s trousers and cupped his hand over the rapidly hardening bulge there, then threaded his other hand into Sherlock’s hair and gave it the barest hint of a tug. “I think in that case you may need to be taught a bit of a lesson.”

Sherlock learned his lesson right there in front of the fireplace, and a very merry Christmas was had by all.

**Author's Note:**

> And as a stocking stuffer, a rec! Merry Christmas.  
> The best Johnlock Christmas story of all time: "Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained" by withoutawish. Yes, okay, you probably read it already, but it posted two years ago so in case you joined the party after S3 you might have missed it. It has EVERYTHING. Even if you're the Scroogiest of Scrooges, you'll be sobbing "God bless us every one!" after you finish this.  
> 


End file.
